


Saturnalia

by Daegaer



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-03-26
Updated: 2004-03-26
Packaged: 2017-11-05 15:23:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/407982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daegaer/pseuds/Daegaer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crowley and Aziraphale celebrate the holiday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Saturnalia

Crowley liked Rome. It was big and loud and exciting and it was well on the way to ruling the world. All roads led to it, which meant he was perfectly justified in staying put and not tiring himself out. He had a very nice flat on the ground floor of a very nice insula, with very nice furnishings, very nice wall paintings and very nice amenities. He patted the prettiest of them on the bottom as he strolled out his very nice door. Aziraphale was waiting outside.

'Not today, thank you, I gave at Creation,' Crowley smirked, sidestepping the angel and continuing on his way.

'I want to talk to you!' Aziraphale said in tones of deepest miff.

Crowley's grin widened, and he sped up a bit. Let the angel chase after him, he thought. After a moment he heard Aziraphale's expensive sandals trotting his way. He debated actually breaking into a sprint, just to see the angel wheeze. All those honey-stuffed dormice caught up with a fellow. It might look like he was scared of Aziraphale, though, so instead he stopped and spun round, finding himself nose-to-nose with a surprised angel.

' _Hel_ -lo,' Crowley said cheerfully. 'And how are the Forces of Good this fine, yet chilly, morning? Would you care for a nice cup of wine, Aziraphale? How about a little snack? My treat, I feel it's only right to make you feel nice and comfy while you're a guest in _my city_.'

'This is not your city,' Aziraphale said testily.

'No? It certainly feels like it. Why don't you go find a place of your own, Aziraphale? You could go to Brittania.'

Crowley laughed heartlessly at Aziraphale's shudder of distaste and waved a hand at a nearby wine shop.

'Come on,' he said, ' a nice cup of Falernian and you can fulminate about my wicked, wicked ways.'

It took two cups of wine, a large dish of olives and a slab of rather tasty cheese, but Aziraphale eventually got into his fulminating stride. Crowley propped his chin on his hand and looked interested, while mentally reviewing his numbers for the year. After surfacing from a particularly tricky bit of mental arithmetic he found Aziraphale scowling at him.

'You haven't paid attention to a single word I've been saying!'

'That's not true, Aziraphale,' Crowley said, 'you were telling me I'm a disgrace and have been for thousands of years and you don't know why you put up with my continued existence and how about another cup of wine?'

'Hmph,' the angel huffed. 'But you can't say what _specifically_ I was talking about, and yes, I wouldn't mind another cup, thanks.'

'Sorry,' Crowley said unconvincingly. 'I was up all night. The housemaid's a right little goer.' He sniggered at Aziraphale's expression.

'I was saying I know you're the one behind the insulae fires,' Aziraphale said. He wagged a finger in Crowley's face inadvisedly, jerking it back when he realised the danger. 'Oh, I know you're not setting the fires yourself, but it was your idea, wasn't it?'

Crowley smiled with the pleasure of seeing a job ill done acknowledged. 'Yes,' he hissed. 'I've invented insurance fraud. Aren't you pleased?'

'No, I most certainly am not,' Aziraphale said. 'People are losing their homes and possessions. People are _dying_ , Crowley, just to build up property owners' and builders' nest-eggs.'

'So?' Crowley asked. 'I can't stop them - I just made the suggestion, you know how people are, they take an idea and run with it all by themselves.'

'What about the families who end up homeless?' Aziraphale said.

'So?' Crowley said again, 'they're just plebeians who don't care about the building regulations. Maybe more of them should save up and live in well-built insulae. Maybe more of them should join the vigiles.'

'You'd care if your insula burnt down,' Aziraphale said threateningly.

'I think you'll find mine is fire-proof,' Crowley said.

Aziraphale looked at him in deep dislike. Then he tossed some coins on the table and got up.

'Keep your hospitality,' he said, and marched out.

Crowley sat there for a minute or so longer, finishing his wine. They didn't do that. They didn't refuse drinks from each other. Not when things were relatively calm, anyway. He hated for the angel to surprise him like that. It made him think Aziraphale wanted a fight, and he'd lost his taste for those. He waited another few minutes, slowly nibbling the few olives Aziraphale had left, and poking at the remains of the cheese. Right. No one could say he'd run after the angel. He strolled out into the streets and went angel hunting.

He found Aziraphale some hours later, sniggering at some badly spelled, obscene graffiti. The picture was amusing though.

'Hi,' Crowley said casually. 'I didn't know that was anatomically possible.'

Aziraphale jumped, but covered his surprise quickly. 'You again,' he said.

'Hey, you came looking for me, remember? Feeling better?'

'Why do you wreak such misery on the world?' Aziraphale sighed.

'It's my job,' Crowley said, surprised. He felt oddly bad at the look on Aziraphale's face, as if the angel were disappointed in him. 'I don't _mean_ anything by it,' he said.

'Don't you care about these people at all?' Aziraphale said. 'I mean, I _know_ you care about _specific_ people - there was that fellow in Corinth, I saw what you were like after his funeral, and there was the woman on Crete - astonishing how her whole family for ten generations had good luck in everything they ever did, and let's see, there were those identical twins in Babylon, they --'

'Well, that was different,' Crowley said quickly.

'It certainly was,' Aziraphale said in a far-away tone of voice. They shared a conspiratorial smile. 'The point is, Crowley,' Aziraphale said, clearing his throat, 'these people that you're working against are just people like your friends. Why can't you see that?'

'I wish you wouldn't say that sort of thing,' Crowley said irritably. 'I have my job to do, you have yours, and I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't try to muddy the waters. I don't have some sort of generalised affection for all humanity, they're just raw material, all right?'

'Hmmm,' Aziraphale said. 'I bet you could find some sort of sympathy for them if you tried.'

'I bet I couldn't be arsed.'

'Why don't you try, you know, living like one of them for a day or two? You'd soon see how unpleasant your little schemes make life.'

'Are you mad?' Crowley said. 'Live like a pleb? And my little schemes are _meant_ to make life unpleasant. Thanks for the compliment.'

'All right. So -- why not give living like a plebeian on holiday a go? Saturnalia's coming up, you could get in the swing of things by taking part in the whole world turned upside down fun.'

Crowley raised an eyebrow. 'Sorry?' he said. 'I could have sworn I just heard an angel suggesting I get involved in a festival of a false god. Do you need a little sit-down, Aziraphale?'

Aziraphale went a sort of pinkish colour. 'Don't be so silly,' he said. ' _Of course_ I just meant the general fun-and-games, not any actual, you know, idolatry.'

'Of course,' Crowley agreed. 'Forget it.'

'Don't be such a stick-in-the-mud. You might enjoy it.'

'I plan on participating in a limited and cultured way. I think I'll cook dinner for my slaves and then graciously allow them to seduce me. Want an invitation?'

' _I'll_ be working,' Aziraphale said.

'I'll do honey-stuffed dormice, just for you --'

The angel sniffed. 'No thanks. I have every intention of working. And mixing in with the ordinary people. _Some_ of us haven't lost the common touch you know. Your problem - one of them anyway - is that you're a snob, Crowley. How many ordinary people do you even bother tempting any more? If they're not entitled to a purple stripe you're not interested. I'm surprised you manage to make your quotas.'

'I make my quotas just fine,' Crowley said. 'And I haven't lost the common touch - why just last night I --'

'Yes, yes, I've heard about your housemaid already,' Aziraphale said in a bored voice.

'Don't even _think_ you can manipulate me into doing what you want,' Crowley said in irritation, 'it's not going to work. You're going to say, "Prove me wrong", and I'm going to laugh.'

Aziraphale rocked back and forth on his toes and heels, smirking. Crowley glared and pretended to admire some pretty Nubians passing by. He sneaked a look at Aziraphale's exponentially increasing smirk and ground his teeth audibly.

'What?' Aziraphale said innocently. 'I'm sure you're right, dear boy. You stay home and have a nice dinner. I'll drop by when you wake up and tell you what you missed.' He beamed a wide, sunny smile at the world in general. Crowley could still see the smirk lurking beneath the surface.

'Fine,' he said, and turned to go.

There was a very quiet snigger behind him, but when he turned back Aziraphale was just looking at the graffiti again.

A day of fuming later, he tracked Aziraphale down at a vegetable seller's stand. The angel was poking and prodding onions with obsessive dedication.

'Do you think this one is better than this?' Aziraphale asked, holding identical vegetables in Crowley's face.

'Bugger your onions,' Crowley said, 'I have _not_ lost the common touch.'

'I'll say,' Aziraphale said, raising an eyebrow. 'What do you think of this radish?' He held up a fat, long white radish and seemed not at all surprised when it spontaneously combusted. 'You can pay for that,' he said.

'You pay for it. I'll do your stupid Saturnalia thing.'

Aziraphale's face glowed with pleasure, and, Crowley was sure, bloody-minded glee. 'You will? Crowley, you're not all bad!'

'Thanks a lot,' Crowley muttered. 'Add insult to insult, why don't you?'

'Come to lunch,' Aziraphale said, 'I have a lovely pot of soup that just needs to be heated up.'

'Oh, soup. What a marvellous offer,' Crowley said.

'And I have a very nice jar of wine that I haven't opened. It's a bit much to drink if I haven't got a guest.'

'Fine, I'll come and have your soup,' Crowley said. Aziraphale always bought good wine, and it would be a shame to let it go to waste down some human's gullet instead of his.

After the soup and halfway through the wine, a depressing thought crept into Crowley's mind.

'Listen, Aziraphale,' he said, 'I've just remembered, I have meetings with some clients all through Saturnalia. We're at the stage of concluding, er, business, and I don't want them to try and slip out without paying. So, sorry, but I won't be able to join in your fun and games after all.'

'You probably just wanted a free drink,' Aziraphale said, pulling the wine jar firmly to his side of the low table.

'That's not very fair of you,' Crowley said. 'If you're going to be like that I'm going home.' He peered at the floor and wondered where he'd left his sandals. Sitting up suddenly proved to be a bad idea, and he lay back down.

'Pass the wine,' he said. An idea scampered through his head. 'D'you really want me to experience the joys of plebby life?' he asked.

'I think it'd be good for you,' Aziraphale said, 'or at least instructive.'

'Those clients are important. I've spent a lot of time on them.'

'Well, give them a few days extra. They'll probably think you've forgotten about them, and you can jump out at them yelling, "Surprise, sinners!" and clicking your hooves together,' Aziraphale said off-hand, sipping his wine.

'I don't have hooves, and never had hooves, but more importantly I think we should both get in the Saturnalia spirit,' Crowley said slyly.

'Yes, quite,' Aziraphale said, obviously not paying attention.

'So, I'll wander round the city as a humble plebeian, and you can do my work during the festival.'

Aziraphale looked at him over the rim of his goblet. He didn't say anything for quite some time, then, 'I think the wine's gone to your head.'

'You just said you would!'

'I did not!'

'You just agreed we should both get in the Saturnalia spirit, and if I'm off being humble, you can bloody well see how the other half lives yourself. I'll give you a list of names, I want them tempted and I want them tempted good - or bad, more to the point. I'll deal with the issue of payment myself, I don't want you declaring an amnesty and messing up my accounts.'

'I have no idea how to tempt anybody, my dear boy,' Aziraphale said.

'Oh yeah? I remember you during the Bronze Age. You already agreed, Aziraphale.'

Aziraphale frowned and poked at the stuffing on his couch. Crowley grinned at the familiar sight of someone trying to come up with a way to weasel out of something.

'Well, the whole point of the festival is to act in ways one would normally not,' the angel said slowly. Crowley nodded encouragingly. 'So, maybe. I might consider doing some _minor_ tasks for you, if you did one or two for me --'

'Hey! You already said what you wanted me to do, and your work wasn't mentioned!'

'-- one or two minor things, and you pay real - _sympathetic_ \- attention to the plebeians, and,' Aziraphale said with a touch of triumph, 'you do it as a woman.'

Crowley smiled thinly. 'Fine,' he said.

'What? You will?' Aziraphale said in surprise. He looked terribly disappointed.

'Brush up on your tempting,' Crowley said cheerfully, 'I expect to hear bad things of you.' He sat up more carefully, and located his sandals. It was too complicated to lace them on, so he just wished them on instead, and stood. 'Oh, and I hope I don't have to tell you not to shag my slaves, but don't shag my slaves.' He felt a nice warm inner glow at Aziraphale's expression, and went off about his business.

* * *

He felt a lot more dubious about the whole thing when he was standing in his bedroom trying on a dress. He frowned at his reflection in the hand-mirror and made the hairstyle a little more elaborate. Then he decided that ringlets didn't suit him, even if they were fashionable, and gave himself a simpler hairstyle instead. He practiced walking in a feminine manner for an hour before giving up and deciding that he would just keep his normal stride. Right. Make-up. He thought about what he'd seen women wear and scrutinised his face in the polished silver. White lead foundation, kohl round the eyes, carmine on the cheeks and lips. He raised an eyebrow at the effect and toned it down slightly. He also made his eyebrows thinner and more arched. He shuddered at the thought of the housemaid's tweezers and wondered how human women put up with the torture. Having got himself ready he paced up and down irritably, waiting for Aziraphale, and reading over the angel's instructions a few last times just to make sure he hadn't left anything off. After an hour of reading and pacing he realised his back ached a bit. He looked down at his chest and regretfully made them smaller. _Sports models_ , he thought. After all, he might have to run. He laughed at the thought, wiping his eyes, and then blessing viciously as the blessed eyeliner came off all over his hand. By the time Aziraphale finally turned up he had his make-up firmly reapplied and had sternly told it not to dare try that again.

Aziraphale blinked at him in what Crowley was sure was professional admiration.

'Very, um,' Aziraphale said.

'Thank you,' Crowley said, trying the effect of a coquettish smile. 'Here's your list. I want adultery, I want abuse of the weak, I want gluttony and regrettable behaviours. Think you can manage, or should we just call the whole thing off?'

Aziraphale took the wax tablets as if they were poisonous. 'You keep to your side of the bargain, I'll keep to mine,' he said.

'That's my angel. Don't worry, it's not the fall that gets you, it's the sudden stop at the bottom.'

'I'm in no danger of that, thank you very much,' Aziraphale said icily.

'All right, all right. I thought risque jokes were meant to be part of the whole Saturnalia experience. Will I make some sexual jokes at your expense instead?'

'Let's get going,' Aziraphale said, eyes narrow like he was considering giving Crowley a good smiting.

Crowley grinned and strode out the door.

* * *

An hour later he was heartily sick of being groped. He attached himself to a group of girls in the hope that the groping would at least be distributed amongst them equally. He was rather surprised to find he was enjoying himself. The girls boldly invaded a wine shop and had a public small cup of wine each; they heckled some would-be gropers into fleeing precipitously; they shoplifted handfuls of dates and redid each other's make-up in a more daring and garish fashion. And they did all of it by themselves, with absolutely no encouragement from him. They told each other detailed stories about their boyfriends' and husbands' sexual prowess; when it came to his turn he gave a glowing account of his abilities and was somewhat put out when they all laughed themselves silly and asked for a more believable story. He was seriously considering wreaking an awful and spiteful revenge when they suddenly apologised for upsetting him and redid his hair, promising it would look very pretty. Crowley briefly wondered if they were playing some silly trick on him, but let himself relax and enjoy the feel of their fingers in his hair. They all smiled at him and told him it looked very nice. Passing men didn't laugh at him, so he supposed they were telling the truth.

They were in their third wine shop of the evening when one of Crowley's patrician clients came in. He hid behind one of the taller girls before telling himself he was being ridiculous, of course the man couldn't recognise him like this. He leant back casually against the wall, watching the man. This wasn't the first patrician he'd seen slumming around that evening, but this fellow was the first person he'd seen from Aziraphale's little list. He could hardly wait to see what the angel had been up to. The man sidled up to the group of girls who stared him down until he sidled off to the counter, and began drinking. After throwing down a couple of cups he began to make rather unsubtle queries about the back room of the shop and whether there might be any company available. The owner beckoned over a girl with even more garish make-up than Crowley's new friends.

'Actually,' the patrician said, with the air of someone who couldn't quite believe he was saying this aloud, 'I was looking for a goat.'

The wine shop erupted with laughter and the unfortunate man stood there, letting the shame wash over him for several minutes before turning tail and fleeing. _Regrettable behaviour,_ Crowley thought cheerfully, _Aziraphale's really doing it._ It was a wonderful thought; here he was, having a nice drink with some nice girls, and there Aziraphale was, doing his work for him. Although, he mused, the fellow hadn't actually slept with a goat. Oh well, it had given him a good giggle, and Aziraphale _was_ only a beginner at tempting - his imagination probably hadn't gone beyond _talking_ about goats.

After that Crowley kept an eye out. He saw a respectable matron get herself into a clinch with one of her litter bearers. He saw a senator pay good money to be pelted with horse manure. He saw an equestrian lavish stolen money on his pretty little slave. It all made him very happy. However, the fact that the matron had apparently decided to prefer love over social position, and that the money had previously be stolen by the equestrian's patron and thus there was no actual sexual or economic oppression of the poor going on made him a little peeved. He'd really have to have a word with Aziraphale about not giving the bastards any hope. The senator just liked being pelted with manure.

By the time the girls were flagging and beginning to think longingly of their beds, Crowley was really getting into his stride. He bought more food for all of them, more wine for all of them, and was very proud of them of their initiative when two of the less attractive inhabitants of Rome's underbelly decided that a crowd of tipsy girls was easy prey. As the girls got to work scratching out the eyes of one would-be rapist, Crowley lifted the other by the neck and gave him a lecture on how to treat ladies. He felt sure the advice sank in, especially when he let the fellow get a better view of him. When the properly chastised and wincing men had been allowed run away Crowley treated the girls to a late-night snack in a comfortable establishment so that the post mortem of the fight and the hearty agreement that men were pigs could take place in a room with enough light to fix up everyone's hair and make-up again.

At last they were all too tired to keep going and began to wander off home. As they got near the first address they came across a lot of hubbub and people throwing up their hands and loudly wondering what Rome was coming to. There was a heavy smell of smoke and the light was far too bright. One of the girls forced her way through the crowd, her face scared and set. Crowley dived after her, aware of the others following. He shoved people out of the way and tugged the girl forward, the crowd parting a little before them. Around the corner they could see the fire, the insula it was consuming falling in on itself. The vigiles had given up trying to save the building or anyone within it, and were busily demolishing the more rickety of the little buildings beside the insula to stop the fire spreading. For light relief they were also beating the crowd back with staves.

'It's all gone. Everything,' the girl said, stunned.

'At least you're safe,' Crowley said, watching the flames.

She began to cry, and was suddenly hanging on to him. He couldn't quite make out what she was saying, but he thought the kind of girl he was pretending to be would probably have put her arms around a girl sobbing her eyes out, so he did. She hung on tighter and cried harder, and Crowley felt an uncomfortable thread of guilt worm its way into consciousness.

'My bird, my little bird,' she wept, getting tears, make-up and snot smeared all over his dress.

Crowley found the other girls hugging both of them, crying almost as hard. He closed his eyes and thought about the building, and how anything inside, human or animal was long since dead, and how she had said she lived on the fourth floor, at the back -- ah, _there_. Out of the flames, not singed in the slightest, a little finch flew as hard as it could and fluttered around the head of its distraught mistress. It landed on her shoulder and hopped onto the finger she held up for it. Crowley wondered at how a human could lose everything she possessed and worry only for her pet. He gently took his arms from around her and stepped forward through the unseeing vigiles to watch the insula come down completely. The crowd was filled with people crying out in indignation and grief, or silent with shock and horror, or busily stealing from those too stunned to notice a cutpurse. Fury suddenly shot through Crowley. How _dare_ the angel do this? This hadn't been on the list; how dare Aziraphale touch Crowley's people? Clouds began to gather overhead, fast and thick, and then the heavens opened as if the memo about no more Floods had been misfiled. The rain dispersed the crowd quickly, and soon the only people left were those who had lived in the insula and the vigiles, staring at the extinguished fire in bemusement. Crowley let himself get wet and went back to the girls.

'You should come back to my place,' he said to the homeless girl. 'I have plenty of room.'

'Thanks,' she said, 'but I already said I'd go with Martilla.'

He nodded and wished her purse full of silver.

'We'll see you home,' another of the girls said to him.

'No. It's all right. Take care of her,' he said, and watched them go off, their arms around their friend.

Everyone else drifted off too, the rain too heavy to stand out in. Crowley stood in the street, his hair plastered down on his head and water dripping off his nose. Now he came to think about it, that had been a very easy rainstorm to raise. That sort of thing was usually a bit harder. He looked up the street and saw another figure standing there, dripping wet. Telling himself he wasn't going to kill the angel immediately, he walked up to Aziraphale.

Aziraphale pried Crowley's hands from around his throat and pushed him over in the mud.

'What was that for?' he asked.

'Why did you do that?' Crowley said, clambering up again. 'I didn't tell you to burn anything down, you blessed pyromaniac!'

'I didn't! I helped you with the rain, didn't I? That was one of your fraudulent landlords, Crowley. Don't you keep an eye on what they're up to?' Aziraphale said.

'I want to go home,' Crowley said, the urge to fight draining away and leaving something he felt might be uncomfortably near to shame in its stead. He wasn't going to examine the feeling too closely. He stopped letting the rain touch him and tried to get up the energy to sneer at Aziraphale, who was still being soaked. It seemed too much trouble, so he just started walking. Aziraphale walked silently beside him.

'I don't want to do this any more,' Crowley said. 'One night was enough.'

'That's probably for the best,' Aziraphale said with obvious relief. 'I don't think I'm any good at your sort of thing. You should probably get back to what you're best at.'

_What I'm best at,_ Crowley thought miserably, the smell of smoke all over his clothes. He looked at Aziraphale. 'No more fires,' he said. 'At least not at my instigation. You know what humans are like; the buggers can never let go of an idea. But _I_ won't tell them to do it.'

'Thank you, Crowley,' Aziraphale said. He was quiet as they walked out of the area of rain back into the dry, then said, 'And I won't try to act as I thought you would. Far too, um, interesting for me.'

'Yeah?' Crowley said, a ghost of a grin creeping onto his face. 'Did you find the tempting too tempting?'

'Oh no,' Aziraphale said dismissively. 'Really, I don't see where you find the challenge in your work. Far too simple for my tastes. No, I'm talking about the disobedience and backstabbing bit of it all. I felt sure that you'd appreciate me weaselling out of a direct prohibition and sneaking round behind your back, that's all.'

'Huh? What are you talking about?' Crowley said, changing his clothes back to dry, fashionable men's clothing, and resuming his favourite shape.

'Well, you know how you told me not to sh -- er, interfere with your slaves?' Aziraphale said in a guilty tone of voice. 'Well, your housemaid really is rather pretty, isn't she?'

Crowley stopped dead and made an incoherently indignant noise. He was trying to think of an appropriate way to fully express his displeasure when he saw that Aziraphale was laughing at him, and glared at him in irritation.

'You're lying,' he said. 'Or at least you'd better be.'

'You know me, I don't lie,' Aziraphale said. 'Letting you come to your suspicious conclusions all by yourself, well that's another matter.'

'Bastard,' Crowley said.

'Oh, I know _exactly_ who my Father is,' Aziraphale said smugly. 'Let's go and drink your best wine.'

'Good idea,' Crowley said. 'Happy Saturnalia, Aziraphale.'

They strolled away, taking care not to let the other see the fondness in their smiles.


End file.
